The World Is Hollow
by kangeiko
Summary: A tragedy prompts Scott to start thinking.... and brooding, of course. Can he be coaxed out of his shell by an equally shattered Logan? WARNINGS: implied m/m subtext, CHARACTER DEATH. Can't get any clearer than that.


THE WORLD IS HOLLOW

DISCLAIMER: They belong to Marvel, I borrow them for my sadistic pleasure. They'll be returned to the toybox afterwards, I promise.  
PAIRING: Well... it's all hints. But we have Remy/Scott and Scott/Logan, as well as Logan/Remy, if you look really hard at it, I suppose. Use your imagination!  
SUMMARY: A tragedy prompts Scott to start thinking - and brooding, of course. Can he be coaxed out of his shell by an equally shattered Logan?  
SPOILERS: Set several months after Remy's return from Antarctica. Rogue has come back to the mansion. Things are tense, but supposedly back to normal. Remy's living in the boathouse. Not much in the way of concrete spoilers, but character introspection stuff.  
ARCHIVE: WWOMB, X-Men Slash Central, my personal site - Still Brazen -, anyone else, please ask first.  
WARNINGS: Character death, touchy issues, slash relationships (duh).

It was Scott, ultimately, that found him. He'd gone up to the boathouse to yell - well, not yell, but speak strongly - at Remy for upsetting Rogue again - mainly by his general presence - and ended up nearly walking into him. What was left of him.

There was a chair set up in the middle of the main room, kicked to the floor. And, above it, the body that had once been Remy LeBeau swung from the ceiling, the noose tight around its neck. The features, once vibrant and alive, were now slack with lingering death. The room smelled remarkably normal, seeing as there was a dead body in it, Scott thought. Remy must have made some preparations before he hung up the noose. Empty out his bowels and bladder, clear away anything he could use as leverage in case the snap of the rope didn't do it's work on his spine and he ended up suffocating instead... even write out a suicide note.

Scott picked the note up without looking at it, stuffing it into his pants pocket, and replaced the chair under Remy's - no, what had once been Remy's - feet, climbing up beside the swinging body. He slowly lowered the cold body to the ground, placing it on its back with its - his - arms crossed over the chest. He took off his jacket and placed it over Remy's pale face, closing the demon-eyes with cold fingertips.

Then Scott left, closing the door behind him, and went to sit at the lake, just... waiting.

Remy's dead.

Strange concept to get into your head. It was one thing to have him die far from home - say, in Antarctica - and not see his body. It was one thing to be able to imagine that he's just decided to take a really long trip... after all, the last time you saw him he was so vividly alive, right?

It was something else completely to find the limp body and to close the darkened eyes himself. It was something else to walk in on the despair in the room, and to know that you had a hand in bringing it about.

He took a look at the note, finally. Nothing much, just a general, "I think I'm better off this way," nothing about "don't weep for me" - he probably thought that they wouldn't...

Oh.

"The world is hollow," Remy's familiar script read. "And I have touched the sky."

Trust Remy to be a Star Trek fan, Scott thought with wry amusement. But which was worse, for Remy to be quoting Star Trek, or for Scott to recognise the quote?

And what a horrible quote it was. Telling, that was the word to describe it. The world is hollow... No wonder Storm had been afraid of confined spaces. Had Remy been claustrophobic too? Not confined spaces for him, though. No, the world wasn't big enough to contain him... not when he needed to get away.

To get away - from them.

The note was crumpled in his hand and he threw it, furious, into the water. It mocked him with its existence for a moment or two, then disappeared from sight. Scott bowed his head and willed his mind to clear. He simply waited - for whoever would come to check on him... to check on Remy.

Logan - Logan! - found him several minutes later, locating him by smell alone. His face was grim; he could undoubtedly smell the death. "How?" It was all he needed to know. Obviously, he'd smelled no blood.

"Hung himself. " Scott kicked his feet in the water. He'd taken off his boots and socks and sat on the grassy edge, dangling his legs over the bank and sending out 'all is well' vibes to anyone who would listen. He didn't want to be found by Jean. Not yet.

Nodding, Logan sat down next to him and pulled off his own boots and socks, joining him in the waiting game. "Was it quick, d'you think?" He hoped it was. It was the least the Cajun deserved. Still... however slow the death had been, it would have been quicker than what he had faced in Antarctica. He wondered how long this had been building for - since Remy's return, or had something more recent triggered his reaction?

"His neck was snapped." Clean as you could hope for. "I don't think it took too long, even with his metabolism," he added unnecessarily. Remy was strong... and you just never knew how the mutant body would react to injuries. Even if the snap in the spine had merely paralysed him from the neck down, he would have suffocated within minutes. He hoped.

"Huh." Logan grunted. His claws extended as he flexed his arm, and he reached down to stir the water with the blades. "So. What d'you think set him off?" Amazing how cold, how clinical he could be about this. He'd mourn later. He'd mourn him properly, with blood and honour when he was alone and unobserved. As the Cajun deserved.

Now... now it was just... small talk. He suspected that Cyclops needed to talk too.

Scott shrugged. "I'll be damned if I know." So many things to choose from...

"Huh." Logan grunted again, and lapsed into silence.

"I took the body down," Scott said after a moment. "Closed his eyes, covered his face, folded his arms. All that shit."

"Yeah," Logan echoed with a sidelong look. "I figured you might do 'all that shit'." He paused again. "You gave him your jacket?"

"I wasn't about to cover him with the bed sheets or the curtains." It was the least he owed him. "And I wasn't about to leave him uncovered, either." Remy wouldn't want that. Actually, he wasn't entirely sure what Remy would have wanted, but he had an inkling that it involved a private funeral, and a short and to the point eulogy. He'd write that himself, of course. Take the body down to New Orleans if Remy's father wished it so. Bury it in the mansion grounds if they thought that Remy would be happier here. Not that he was ever happy here... But that was unfair. He had been happy, at least for a little while... right?

"No. Good point." They sat in a comfortable silence again. "So, who do you think will find him?" It was as if Scott's encounter had never happened. Remy was safe and warm, wrapped up in his Team Leader's jacket. Until someone screamed and cried and ran away, their hearts breaking in grief... why, it was as if he were still alive.

Right?

Scott shrugged smoothly. "Damned if I know. Rogue. Maybe Storm. Jean, if she gets curious and decides to check on him herself." Damned if I know. He didn't usually swear. And now, it sounded dulled, coming from him. All the more impact for its understatedness.

Actually, he wasn't sure who the best person to find Remy would be. It would rain for many months after Storm learned of his death. There would be silence in the house for a long while anyway.

He hoped.

I don't think I could deal with screaming and crying.

Death was one thing. Suici-- . Damn. Well, uh, that was another. I'll get around to saying it Remy. I swear. As soon as I figure out why you did it.

De spero.

It was obvious why he'd done it. Wasn't it?

There should have been blood. Then Scott could get a little of it on his hands, so people could see that --

"It's not your fault," Logan said. The surface of the lake rippled.

Scott glanced at him sidelong. "I never said it was."

"I know."

They sat in silence for a little bit longer. Scott fancied that he could see red-on-black eyes on the birds that skimmed the surface of the water. It wouldn't surprise him.

"It's not your fault, you know." Logan continued to watch the surface of the lake.

"Are you pulling a 'Good Will Hunting' on me?"

"Only if you want to cry, Slim." He somehow made it sound as if it wasn't such a terrible thing.

"No." Scott kicked at the surface of the water once again, then let himself fall back on to the grass, staring at the sky. "No, I'm fine. I know it's not my fault."

"You're Team Leader," Logan reminded him, leaning back and twisting slightly to stare at him from a raised elbow.

"Yeah."

"You weren't especially close to him when he got back," Logan went on.

Something tightened in Scott's chest. "Yeah."

"It's still not your fault." Logan reached over and nudged him with a balled fist. "Look at me." Scott spared him a glance. "It's not your fault."

"Yeah." Scott didn't sound convinced of this fact, but the tight feeling in him eased.

Logan continued to watch him. "Don't be selfish, Scott," he murmured after a moment.

Scott did look at him then, surprise written over his face. Logan hadn't called him by his given name since... well, ever. "Selfish?" He echoed. "Bit late for that now..."

"Not what I meant and you know it. Don't be selfish in hogging all the guilt. There's plenty to spread around, you know. I bet that 'Ro will want to make a rather large claim for herself." The corner of his mouth quirked slightly at that, completely humourless.

Scott settled back, closing his eyes against the sudden glare of the sky. "She can have Rogue's share. I doubt that Rogue will complain." He pulled off his tinted glasses, locking the frame closed and resting them on his chest.

Something cold and metallic dragged over his chest, teasing the glasses from his grasp. "Probably. Do you care?"

Scott surrendered the glasses without a fight. "No." Why bother? He hadn't cared before, had he? Well... that wasn't fair. He had cared... but what was that about taking things for granted? He hadn't said anything. Team Leader. Yeah, right.

The claws, having captured his glasses and pulled them out of the way, were now skimming over his neck. Scott didn't react, completely relaxed... completely helpless.

An instant of pressure against his neck, and then the claws were gone. "Why don't you fight, Slim? It's not your fault."

Yeah, right. Team Leader. He shook his head slowly. "I was Team Leader. I was responsible for his well-being." Responsible for more than that, actually. Responsible for making sure that Remy had been given a chance. That he'd been evaluated and trusted on his own merits, rather than on imagined slights. If I'd made more of an effort to talk to him before, would he have told me about the Massacre? Then the Trial would never have happened. It shouldn't have happened anyway - God, talk about hypocrisy-- - but it did. And he could have prevented it. Could have prevented Antarctica.

Might have prevented this, if he'd talked to Remy after he'd returned. No. Too busy not trusting him. He'd been worried that Remy might harm someone out of revenge.

Someone...

He snorted. Got that right, at least.

Remy's dead eyes stared back at him accusingly from the inside of his eyelids.

The claws were back, poised over his throat. And he didn't feel any panic. Why? Why did he trust Logan but had not trusted Remy? Some Team Leader I was...

"Cyke... Scott." Logan sounded tired. He didn't really want to deal with this, but he had no choice. He didn't want to risk two bodies next morning. So why didn't you do this with Remy last night, and prevent it all? Yes, he would be claiming his own share of guilt when the body was discovered by the rest. "Scott..." He didn't really want to say this - didn't want to admit it - but it wasn't as if he had a choice. Cyclops needed to hear it. "You're a good Leader."

"I got him killed. No, worse than that. I made him kill himself."

Logan applied the slightest bit of pressure with the claw against Scott's throat. He could feel the jump in the man's Adam's apple reverberate through him. Those that thought his claws felt nothing were sorely mistaken. They were a part of him. They felt what he felt. "No. You're not responsible."

"I am. I'm his Team Leader - no, I was his Team Leader. If he had been killed while on duty, it would be my fault. This is even worse, and is even more my fault."

"Didn't we just agree that we could all get a share of the guilt?"

"I changed my mind."

"Well, fuck you, Scott. I doubt that Remy would see it that way."

"Remy? Whatever happened to Gumbo?" Still, he kept his eyes closed.

"He died, back in Antarctica. I don't know who came back, but it wasn't Gumbo. Something was missing. Some part of him had been... extinguished. Put out."

"By me."

"Last I heard, you weren't the one leaving him to freeze to death."

"Maybe not. I should have known, though. Should have fixed it when he got back."

"Yes. You should have. You made a mistake, Scott. Welcome to the human race."

"Don't we mutants get automatic exemption?"

"Not when it comes to mistakes. We all make them. Especially Gumbo."

Something thick welled up in Scott's throat. "He was just a kid," he murmured fitfully.

"No. He wasn't. He was two years younger than you, Cyke. If he was a kid, so are you. So are most of the rest of you."

"I can't think of myself as a kid."

"I didn't think you could. So why Remy? Is it 'cause o' his looks? 'Cause he'd kick your butt to Timbuctoo if it was because of that."

"No..." he tried to put it in words. "He wouldn't trust us. It used to strike me as very childish."

"And now?"

"Cynical." He turned towards Logan, still keeping his eyes shut. "Now I think that it was cynical. Old. Jaded. Like he'd been betrayed too many times..."

"Exactly."

There was warm breath against Scott's cheek, signalling Logan's proximity. The claw at Scott's throat rested lightly against the heated flesh, dragging delicately. "So - what? He expected it, so we delivered? I should have seen that..."

"Maybe. Hence the 'mistake' thing." He paused. "Are you going to pray for him?"

Scott froze. It just wasn't like Logan to ask such a personal question. "Why?" he asked warily.

Logan shrugged. "Just asking. I was wonderin' whether t' do it, myself."

"Why not?"

"It's a cardinal sin, what he did." Logan couldn't quite bring himself to say it either. "Not sure whether praying will get him in worse trouble than before..."

"I didn't know you were Catholic."

"I'm not. Remy was, though."

"Was he?" He hadn't acted like it.

Scott felt, rather than saw, Logan nod. "Yeah. He even had a rosary. I found it when we were clearing out his room. Gave it back to him... but he said he didn't need it anymore. But I knew, before then. He said his prayers every night, 'fore he went to bed. I could hear him."

"Never knew that."

"No."

They lay for a while longer in silence. Scott shifted, then. "I think I will pray for him. D'you think he might have wanted that?" Religion was a touchy subject for him - for them all. With such a large mixture of beliefs, it was a full-time job to be respectful of others.

"I don't know." Like he knew all about Catholicism. "But I know that his soul might need a little help in any case."

Scott thought about this, then snorted. "We sound ridiculous."

"Yeah."

Pause. "I'm not... not entirely sure what to say for his eulogy."

Yeah... best concentrate on what he had to do. Not what he should do. Talk about the funeral arrangements, the autopsy, the eulogy, contacting Remy's family... decide what he'd have to do for every step of the way, so when he got back to the mansion he could be called callous and uncaring. But that was the whole point, wasn't it? He wasn't afforded time for anything else.

Logan seemed to sense this, moving a bit closer and watching his Team Leader's face thoughtfully. "You're going to have him buried here, then?"

"I'm not sure. D'you think he might have wanted to go home?"

"Isn't that the point? He lived here for eight years."

"Yeah. I just wonder..."

"Are you gonna do Auden?"

Scott snorted. The man had so many facets... Wolverine, discussing poetry. "D'you think I should?"

"You'd be lying."

"I know." Scott paused. "Dorothy Parker. She'd be right for him."

"Oh, don't be depressing or anything, Scott."

"It'll be a funeral, Logan, I don't think that depressing is avoidable."

"Still - Parker? Couldn't you just stick with the Auden? Everyone knows Auden."

"Parker suits Remy. Besides, like you said, with Auden I'd be lying. I would have liked for it to have been true, in retrospect, but, then, hindsight's always twenty-twenty, right?"

"Yeah." Another long pause. Logan had opened his mouth to say something - anything - when the silence was split by a low keening cry. "Ah."

"Who is it?" Sounded like Rogue.

An instant later, a screaming green streak flashed across the sky, unseen by Scott. Logan squinted. "Rogue."

Scott nodded. Figured. His jacket would probably be lying on the ground by Remy now, pulled away from his face and then abandoned on the floor. Figured that she wouldn't replace it. "D'you think she'll be back for the funeral?" Practicalities. Always practicalities. If he didn't think of them, who would?

"Are you gonna let her attend?"

Good point. "I think I should ask Remy's family that." 'Cause he wasn't sure whether the X-men had any say in what happened to Remy anymore.

Pause. Strong claws still stroked over Scott's throat and cheek.

There was the familiar wind-swept feeling of Storm's flight-winds, bringing her to the boathouse. Then, she, too, swept up into the air, with nary a sound. Thunder crackled, and the skies opened.

Scott stirred restlessly. Storm would have replaced the jacket over Remy's face before she left, but there were other things that had to be done. He and Logan would have to go back to the boathouse and get the body. Arrange it properly, call Hank for an autopsy. Actually, he wondered if Remy's family would allow an autopsy. Maybe they'd just want the body preserved for the funeral. And then there were the funeral arrangements themselves... either in New Orleans or at the mansion, he'd still have to organise it. He wondered if Remy's father would allow that. He wondered if Remy's widow would be there. He wondered how he'd be able to tell her that he'd allowed her husband to die alone.

He wondered when he'd be able to grieve properly.

Strong, smooth claws caressed his cheek, followed by a warm and bare hand. "Scott..." Logan's voice was rough. "Open your eyes."

"No."

"C'mon, Cyke... open your eyes."

A shudder ran through Scott. "I can't. I could... I could hurt you."

The barest touch of a fingertip against his lips. "I trust you. Open your eyes, Scott."

He would grieve for his fallen comrade. He could do that, right? He could grieve for him and move on. But that would come later.

Even heroes need comfort when they fail this close to home. "Scott..."

The rain lashed them both, soaking them through. Scott opened his eyes, the laser beams lashing out, unhindered by the rain. Warm, callused fingers continued to stroke his cheek as a rough voice told him over and over again that it wasn't his fault alone, that they all carried the burden, that he would need to grieve or he would suffer later for it. But it was all a murmur, soft against his cheek, tickling him, fading in importance against the fact that it was his fault. He was Team Leader. And, still - "I trust you. I trust you. -" Said over and over again, the voice rough and unrecognisable.

He reached over, laying his hand against the warm chest so impossibly near, lulled by the steady beat beneath his fingers and the raw murmur of the voice. And if he fancied that he could he could hear a hint of a French accent there... well, that was entirely understandable.

The sky seemed impossibly far off.

fin

AUTHOR'S NOTES:

The two poems I kept in my mind were 'Funeral Rites' by W.H. Auden ("He was my north, my south, my east, my west;/ My working week and my Sunday rest." etc etc etc), and the following poem by Dorothy Parker, which I think sums people up when they're at their lowest, and clinging to any reason to live. Unfortunately, I don't know the title of the poem. If anyone does, please let me know!

- by Dorothy Parker.

Razors pain you  
Rivers are damp  
Acid stains you  
And drugs cause cramp.

Guns aren't lawful  
Nooses give  
Gas smells awful  
You might as well live.


End file.
